Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood: The Fires Within
by DarkSeraphim1
Summary: The world doesn't end with a transmutation, it ends with a Flame. AU, RoyxEd. Canon divergence, Episode 53, Flame Of Vengeance. Yaoi, shonen-ai. Alternate Dimensions, Dark, Time-travel.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I only wish I owned the rights to Edward, Roy Mustang, and Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood. If I did, it would have been yaoi. Yeah, definitely yaoi.

**Plot Synopsis:** The world doesn't end with a transmutation, it ends with a Flame. AU, RoyxEd. Canon divergence, Episode 53, Flame of Vengeance.

**Author's Note: **I was blown away the first time I saw Brotherhood. It completely made up for my disappointment with what was basically the last half (and the movie) of the original anime. This is based on Brotherhood - which made me respect Mustang's character a hellova lot more! - but I'll be borrowing from the manga and FMA as needed (remember, AU). It's my first venture into the FMA world - and unbeta'd - so please, be kind=).

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**The Fires Within**

Chapter 1

The tunnel stretched out before them, long and dark as it arched and curved towards the very heart of Central. Their footsteps tapped out an uneven staccato as they walked, their voices hushed with something that greatly resembled fear. Most of them knew what awaited them; he, Scar and Mei had already found their way into the Homunculi lair once. Jerso and Zampano had only their descriptions of Father and his power to go by, but even they could sense the evil that seemed to permeate this dark place. It was a heavy feeling that suffused the air, leaving their stomachs tied in knots and their hearts beating faster in the chests. Intangible, but undeniable all the same.

Edward Elric did his best to ignore the unsettling sensation as he looked over his shoulder for the umpteenth. He could hear the occasional _boom_ of Colonel Mustang's flame alchemy, always followed by cries of pain and screams of frustration, and he felt a fleeting sense of pity for Envy. The homunculus had no idea what kind of hell he'd unleashed on himself when he had confessed to killing Brigadier-General Hughes, but Edward was willing to bet that he was getting a clue now. The Flame Alchemist wasn't a man to be taken lightly, and with Envy's superiority complex in high gear, it sounded like he was learning his lesson the hard way.

But Edward had to admit that he was worried. In all the years that he'd known Mustang, he had _never_ seen him like that. The Colonel might be a smug, smirking, manipulative bastard of a commanding officer, but he was _not_ a cruel man. And behind closed doors, he'd shown himself to be surprisingly. . .gentle, almost kind to those he cared for. It was those times, when they were alone and the rest of the world fell away, that Edward loved Roy Mustang the most.

Yet, the darkness he'd seen in Mustang's eyes when he'd looked at Envy had been downright. . ._scary_. There had been no empathy in those exotic black orbs, none of the compassion that Edward was so used to seeing. Oh, the arrogance was there – it was _always_ there – but the almost sadistic kind of glee buried in their dark depths had him second-guessing his decision to continue on. Yes, Father and the other Homunculi had to be stopped, but if they lost Roy – if _he_ lost Roy – Edward would never forgive himself.

They came to another bundle of pipes, this one larger than the others, and he listened almost absently to the others as they began to climb over it. Rancid _chi,_ fear, and Father. Nothing he didn't already know. He stopped and half-turned, twisting to look down the corridor behind him. The noise had stopped, and that had him more worried than Envy's screams had. He had no way of knowing if Mustang was still alive, or if Envy had somehow managed to overcome him.

What the fuck would he do if Roy _died?_

His hands curled into fists as he stared blindly at the ground, and he knew that he couldn't go on without knowing. "Scar, I need to talk to you."

The Ishvalan man paused in his ascent of the pipes, slanting an unreadable glance back his way. "It's about the Flame Alchemist, isn't it?"

Edward made a small, involuntary sound – of denial, of fear, of confirmation, he didn't know which – as he raised his head, and something in Scar's scarlet eyes softened. God, was he _that_ easy to read?

"It wasn't that long ago that I was a monster. I understand the burning desire for revenge all too well." The other man paused, his unusual eyes taking on an inward cast, and Edward wondered just what he was seeing. "The way he's headed, he'll destroy himself in the flames of hatred, and it's doubtful that he will ever recover."

As thought to emphasize his words, flames flared up at the end of the hallway, filling the corridor with smoke and the sickening stench of burning flesh. Edward whirled around, his golden eyes widening as the sound of Envy's screams came to him again, because this time it was different. There was no arrogance in those horrific sounds, none of the overconfidence that was the homunculus' trademark. Instead, there was only one long howl utter and complete physical agony.

"Goddamn it, he's going to kill him!" Edward swung away and took off at a run. "I've got to stop him! Tell the others I'll catch up!"

He didn't hear the other man's grunt of displeasure, but he heard the footfalls that fell beside him clearly enough. "You don't have to come with me," he snapped, already breathless from the pace he'd set. It wasn't that he was out of shape – he was only sixteen, for crying out loud! – and Roy had told him that he was nearly at the peak of his physical prowess. No, he was scared shitless that his boyfriend was about to do something stupid and fuck the rest of his life up!

Scar merely grunted again and kept pace with him, and Edward rolled his eyes. The other man seemed able to talk to Al and even Winry easily enough. What was it about _him_ that made the Ishvalan either clam up, or choose his words so carefully that Ed wanted to crack his head open just to get a straight answer?

"You believe in him," Edward was startled by the unexpected question, "in your Flame Alchemist?"

"Fuck yeah, I do!" he answered emphatically. "Mustang's going to lead this hellhole of a country to better things, Scar. He's going to be the best Fuhrer Amestris has _ever_ had."

He felt more than saw the Ishvalan's gaze touch on him as they ran. "Then, let us hope that we reach him in time, Fullmetal Alchemist."

Edward scowled at the formality. He didn't know why Scar refused to call any of them by their given names, but it pissed him off to no end. He wasn't _just_ a State Alchemist, damn it! He was a living, breathing person, one who was trying to save his country from a corrupt and literally inhuman government. That should fucking count for _something,_ shouldn't it?

They rounded a corner and were nearly incarnated as a wall of fire came billowing towards them. Edward's feet skidded out from under him as he hit the ground, throwing his arms over his face to protect himself. Once the flames had receded, he looked over to see Scar slowly lowering his own arms. The cuffs of his jacket had been singed, and he was wearing a troubled expression as he gazed down the corridor, but he still had his eyebrows, so Edward figured he was good.

He didn't bother to check himself for wounds. Half his limbs were automail, and if he'd burned the other half he'd fucking know it. Right now, all he wanted to do was get to Mustang _before_ he did something that would haunt him for the rest of his fucking life. He was carrying around enough shit from Ishval as it was. He didn't any more "sins" to weigh him down, not when he had the future of an entire country to carry on his shoulders.

But, God, the stench! Edward brought his arm up and covered his nose with his jacket sleeve, reminding himself to _not_ to breathe through his nose. It helped – a little – but it didn't do anything for the goddamned sounds. All he could hear were the snaps from Roy's ignition gloves, echoing and rebounding as they bounced off the stone walls, making the explosive nature of his lover's special brand of alchemy seem all the more devastating. Roy was using his flames to their full, terrifying potential, as those horrifyingly _real_ screams of anguish coming from Envy could attest.

And then, it all just _stopped._ The explosions, the screams, everything. All that was left was a silence so complete that it turned Edward's blood cold with its implications. He closed his eyes and offered up a prayer – to God, to The Gate, to whatever uncaring deity that _might_ be bored enough to listen – and forced himself to keep walking. For the first time since he was eleven years old, he was genuinely afraid. He didn't know what was waiting for him around the next corner, and he knew that his future – his _life_ – depended on what he was about to see. If Roy was dead. . .

He shuddered violently and banished the thought as quickly as it had formed. Roy Mustang was a tough bastard. He'd survived Ishval, he'd survive this too. They would defeat Father and the Homunculi, and Mustang would fix their broken country.

And Edward would be with him every step of the way.

He felt a weight on his shoulder and jumped, surprised to see that they were nearly at the end of the tunnel. He looked up to see Scar gazing at him with more emotion than he'd ever seen the man display. It was pity – or something close to it – stamped into his craggy features, and Edward's gut coiled warningly in response.

"Your Flame Alchemist, Fullmetal."

He jerked his silver head to the left, and Edward followed the motion with trepidation. There he was, standing in the middle of the fire-blackened corridor, his silken ebony hair fluttering in the breeze that his own alchemy had created. He was still wearing _that_ expression, the one which had disturbed Edward from the very beginning. It had been enough to send him scrambling back here to save the man he loved from himself, and it was enough to keep him rooted to the spot now that he'd finally reached him.

Roy had one boot pressed threateningly on what was left of Envy, and even as Edward watched he began to press down, intent on destroying the diminutive lizard-like creature that was Envy's true form. The homunculus was begging for his life, but there was no mercy in Roy's eyes, and very little humanity. Edward knew that he stood on the cusp of a very unstable precipice, and all it would take was one tiny push, and it would be all over.

A movement behind Mustang caught Edward's attention, a flash of fair hair and russet eyes, and he realized that Hawkeye had beaten him here. She lay sprawled on the ground just beyond him, blood pouring from a gash in her left shoulder, her eyes wide as she just _stared_ at Mustang. There was something close to horror in those expressive eyes, and that was when Edward realized that not even she, who'd been closer to Mustang than anyone else before him, had ever seen _this_ side of him before.

It was a personal epiphany. Edward had always assumed – jealously – that she and Mustang were lovers. Hell, _everyone_ had, especially since Roy's response when asked was always a very ambiguous, "I refuse to dignify such a base rumor with a response,". Edward had always taken it as an evasion, one that had caused alot of problems between them. Roy had accused him of not trusting him, and in return, Edward had accused him of being a duplicitous bastard.

But now, he finally saw the truth, and he was ashamed. Riza Hawkeye had never been intimate with Roy Mustang. She'd hadn't held him in the dead of night, when the atrocities he'd committed in the name of his government left him steeped in guilt and covered in imaginary blood. She didn't know the shame that Roy held deep in his heart, she'd never seen the _despair_ that had made this rage possible. She cared about Mustang – probably even loved him – but she sure as hell didn't know him if she hadn't been expecting _something_ like this.

"So, this is your true form, then." Those deep onyx eyes with their catlike tilt at the corners narrowed ever so slightly on Envy, and his smooth voice trembled with the force of his fury. "You're. . ._ugly."_

Edward flinched at that. Mustang, ever the master manipulator, playing on what was probably the only insecurity that the shape-shifting homunculus had. Envy wore the human forms the way Mustang wore his uniform, with pride and unmatched arrogance. Edward had never really given it much thought, but he could see that Mustang had, and that he was using his whip-like intelligence to fuck with his victim's head.

He absolutely _hated_ thinking of Envy as a victim – especially after all the shit he'd pulled – but Roy had reduced the homunculus to a quivering, sniveling mound of unnatural green flesh. Truly pitiful sounds escaped the defeated monster, muffled sobs and terrified whimpers. He was well and truly afraid of what he'd set free, Edward couldn't blame him for his fear. Roy was so close to the edge that even _he_ could feel it, and after the destruction of his human form, Edward didn't doubt that Envy could too.

But Edward knew something that Envy didn't, something that even Lieutenant Hawkeye hadn't quite figured out yet. Roy Mustang wasn't a killer. No matter what they – or even Roy himself - believed, the hate-filled man standing before them was not who Mustang really was. If it were, he would've destroyed himself long before this.

But it was all Edward could do to keep his mouth shut as Mustang continued to taunt the defeated homunculus. He wanted to rush out there and yank the homunculus away from the older man, to smack Mustang upside his attractive head and demand to know what he thought he was doing. But like he'd told Scar, he trusted Roy. He trusted his bastard Colonel more than he ever had anyone else – except, maybe, for Al – and he refused to let himself doubt him. Roy wouldn't let himself become a monster. He would pull himself back from the edge, and he'd do it without help from _anyone._

"Envy means jealousy." Mustang paused – ever the showman, creepy though the show was – and it almost seemed like he was _enjoying_ Envy's pathetic display. "That's what your name means, right?"

He pressed his foot down just a little harder, and Edward winced at the high-pitched squeal of fear that rent the smoky air. _"I_ get it."

The deep, beautiful silk of Roy's voice was little more than a bestial growl, roughened by hate and resonating with the grief that had been eating at him since Hughes' death, and Edward felt the first traitorous kernel of doubt bloom in his heart. He silently urged the man to snap out of it, to come back to himself before it went too far. If he was wrong about Mustang, it would fall to _him_ to stop him. If he had to fight the man he loved because he couldn't bring himself back from the brink of oblivion. . .

Edward swallowed hard and stepped forward, intent on stopping this travesty of justice before Mustang had a chance to fail, when he the pressure on his left shoulder increase. He craned his head up and to the left, blinking with surprise. He hadn't realized that Scar was still touching him, so immersed was he in his fear for Roy. The other man's hand tightened, he knew that Scar was doing much more than attempting to offer comfort. He was _restraining_ him.

"Let me go. I have to stop him." His voice was raw with emotion, his frantic golden gaze returning to his lover as he began to strain against Scar's hold. "Damn it, Scar, he's losing himself!"

Scar only shook his silver head negatively, his eyes never leaving the ghastly scene before them. Envy, begging for his life, and Roy Mustang, determined to take it. "It is too late, my friend. He will either give in to the beast, or rise above its need for revenge. Only he can make that decision, now."

"Please, don't. . ." Envy's voice was little more than a feeble wobble in the ghastly silence. "No, don't!"

A graceful hand, clad in obscenely pristine white cloth, was splayed menacingly before the defeated homunculus, and Edward felt a jolt of pure terror. Roy wasn't going to come back to himself. He wasn't going to stop. He was going to kill Envy, and murder his soul in the process!

"And jealousy is an _ugly_ thing."

"Noooo!" Envy began to struggle in earnest, screaming and wailing as he thrashed beneath the rubber sole of Roy's boot. "I don't wanna to die!"

Mustang lifted his hand with agonizing slowness, the ignition cloth of his gloves rasping and sparking as he rubbed his thumb and forefingers together. His intention was all too clear, and Edward had only one thought: to get to Roy before he went through with this fucking madness.

"I'm not giving you a choice!" Mustang was beautiful in his rage, both stunningly breathtaking and deceptively righteous in his wrath, and Edward's breath caught in involuntary appreciation. "NOW BURN IN HELL!"

The unmistakable sound of a bullet being chambered stopped Edward dead in his tracks. It echoed as loudly as a gunshot through the narrow space, and he saw that Hawkeye had _finally_ come to her senses. She had her revolver trained on the Mustang's head, her expression one of grim determination, and Edward slumped against Scar in his relief. Hawkeye had always been Mustang's conscience. If there was anyone he would listen to right now, it would be her.

Deep pools of endless black slid to Mustang's left, locking on the woman who'd served him for years than Edward had been alive. They were the only part of his body to move, and Edward had to admit that it was a fucking creepy effect. "And what do you think _you're_ doing?"

Hawkeye's own eyes narrowed at the menace in his own. "That's enough, Colonel," she told him in a stern, no-nonsense voice. "I'll deal with him from here."

Mustang's gaze left hers, focusing on Envy once more. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he spoke. "He's as good as finished," he forced through clenched teeth. "Lower your weapon."

She lifted her chin bravely. "I can't obey that order. Put your hand down!"

The faintest of movements was all it to took, and blue lightning sparked along the length of his hand. "Damn it!" he yelled impotently, incensed by her interference. "I won't ask again!"

He curled his hand, the muscles in his arm and shoulders bunching in preparation to strike. Alchemic energy danced around the white glove with its red-stitched array, power literally crawling over his trembling form, bathing his entire body in blue-tinged light, and then he _snapped._

Edward knew then that Scar had been right. It was too late. They had lost him – _he_ had lost him.

It was his last conscious thought before instinct took over. He elbowed Scar in the stomach, shoved him away, and slapped his hands together in the same motion. The resulting clap was sharp as it reverberated through the tunnel, and before it faded he was crouched on the ground, his hands pressed to the blackened stone as his own alchemy surged to life. He directed the energy along the length of the tunnel floor, brilliant streaks of cerulean light racing along the ground towards Mustang and his captive. Flat-edged chunks of weathered stone to grew out of the tunnel floor, row after row overlapping each other like dominoes falling in reverse.

Edward's only thought was to rescue Envy from the sphere of fire that was consuming him, to get the homunculus away from Mustang before he died. He didn't care if Envy survived the Promised Day or not, he just didn't want Roy to be the one to murder him. Because that's just what it would be. Not justice for Brigadier-General Hughes, not vengeance for a fallen friend, but murder plain and simple, and Roy was _better_ than that.

But instead of Edward's alchemy dislodging Mustang's foot and launching the homunculus into his waiting hands as planned, Mustang himself did something that turned the tables and caused his entire plan to go up in smoke.

Time itself seemed to grind to a halt as Mustang slowly, deliberately, turned to face him. He looked straight at Edward, rage and pain and _betrayal_ distorting his handsome, maddened features, and – oh God, Edward had never been so terrified in his life! Then his infuriated expression changed, cruel lines and sharp plains blending into something softer, more intimate. He extended his arm, his white-clad fingers curling slightly before splaying wide, a loving invitation that sent relief careening through Edward's entire being.

_He hadn't lost him!_

The knot of terror in his chest unraveled as Edward shifted to his knees, his own lips curving into tremulous smile as reaching out to take his hand. Roy murmured his title, "Fullmetal," just like he always did, the smooth silk of his voice sweeping over Edward like a physical caress, a darkly sensual sound reminiscent of darkened bedrooms and rustling sheets and unrelenting physical pleasure. Edward shivered as the tips of his gloved fingertips met Roy's, gliding almost teasing over the other man's, his trust fueled by his love for the man who had shaped so much of his young life.

And then Mustang began to laugh. Insanity tinged the rich, wholly beloved sound, warping into something dark and twisted and malevolent. Edward recoiled, snatching his hand away and scooting backwards, but it was too late. A thunderclap rent the smoky air, sparks flying from between gloved fingertips, and the world began to _burn._

Time snapped back into motion as a ball of alchemic flame shot towards him. In desperation, Edward reacted, hastily clapping his hands and slamming them to the broken ground. Even as he watched his own energy rush towards Mustang's, he wondered if it wouldn't be enough. Would his alchemy be strong enough to overpower Roy's, or would they all be destroyed in the alchemical backlash?

He heard Envy scream, the loud rattling sound tolling the homunculus' death knell. It was echoed by Edward as his power met Mustang's and _rebounded._ He was thrown to the ground, his entire body seizing as his muscles spasmed, his every sense overloaded as he was engulfed in his own alchemical storm. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. All the oxygen had been sucked out of the air, greedily devoured by two very different kinds of alchemy.

Dimly, he heard another snap, but he was beyond caring. His world had been reduced to shades of _pain,_ and it was all he could do keep himself conscious. He knew that in a few moments, it wouldn't matter. He would be dead, and all that would remain was the monster that Roy had made of himself.

He was almost glad he wouldn't live to see it.

A body appeared above him, large and heavily-muscled, its tattooed arms reaching for him as it blocked out the light. Edward licked his lips and tried to speak, his entire body jerking as it fought to draw the breath necessary for speech, but it was so hot and there was _no air._ He managed to lift his arms, his hands latching onto the other's shoulders – damn it, he should _know_ who those tattoos belonged to! – and clung to them with all of his waning strength.

The man above hunched closer, grasping Edward's wrists as he wrenched his hands away, shoving them back down to the scorched ground. His hair had been completely burned away, and Edward watched with horror as flames licked greedily at his tanned, scarred face. "From one brother to another," the man rasped as his arms began to blow with unearthly light, "take his gift and use it well, Edward Elric."

The light grew stronger in brilliance, glowing so brightly that it eclipsed the sight of the man who was burning alive above him. Edward squeezed his eyes closed as agony suffused his body, his arms burning with a different kind of fire, and then – mercifully – the world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I only _wish_ I owned the rights to Edward Elric and Roy Mustang and Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood. If I did, it would have been a hellova lot more violent, and yaoi. Definitely yaoi.

**Plot Synopsis: **The world doesn't end with a transmutation, it ends with a Flame. AU, RoyxEd.

**Author's Note: **I apologize beforehand for the italics, but it's simply how I write otherworldly scenes, flashbacks, etc.. Still no beta, so bear with me. Any mistakes are my own, and will be corrected as noticed. Now, on with the show!

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**The Fires Within**

Chapter 2

_It was always the same. Tiny hands, pitch-black and ice-cold, tearing at hair, cloth, and flesh. Agony as his body was deconstructed, reduced to its basest elements, only to be reconstructed in the same excruciating fashion. His mind, inundated with information, all the knowledge of universe shoved __**en infinitum**__ into its fragile human psyche. The endless expanse of light, a white so pure and true that it stabbed at the soul and threatened to rend it asunder. _

_And then, The Gate._

_He could __**feel **__it as it rose up behind him, the doorway that led back to the world of man. He knew without looking that it was an impressive, imposing sight. Beautifully crafted symbols would be carved into its massive façade, each alchemic sigil a silent allegory of the life he had lived. He also knew that the doors were closed, and that they would remain that way until Truth came to receive its toll._

_ Edward didn't doubt that Roy – no, not Roy, but the monster Roy had become – had done this. For reasons he might never know, the man he loved had attempted human transmutation, and he had used __**Edward **__as fodder for the forbidden ritual. _

_Pain lashed at him, not physical – nothing but Truth could hurt him here – but emotional. His heart was broken, his spirit crushed, ground to dust beneath the polished heel of Roy Mustang's boots. All of his dreams for the future were gone – all but __**one – **__and he feared that even that would soon be beyond his reach. _

_It didn't matter, Edward told himself dully. Whether he lived or died now, it no longer mattered. He hadn't been fast enough – good enough – to stop his maddened lover, and by the time Truth was done with him, he'd be in no shape to help the others stop the Promised Day. His brother would never get his body back, Roy would never become Fuhrer, and the country that they all loved would fall._

_ He had __**failed.**_

_ "I didn't expect to see __**you **__again so soon," a voice sounded at his back, neither male nor female, yet inexplicably both, "Edward Elric."_

_ Edward closed his eyes for a long moment, an image of Roy as he __**used **__to be playing behind his closed lids. The playful smirk that had __**always**__ pissed him off, the beautiful onyx eyes that had once smiled into his own, the smooth timbre of his voice as he spoke of love and forever. . ._

_ No more illusions, he told himself harshly. His Roy was gone, and __**he **__was about to die. There was nothing he could do to save either of them. All that he __**could **__do was turn around, face his mistakes, and let himself be judged._

_So fucking be it._

_He opened his eyes and slowly turned around, his eyes going wide as he stared not at Truth, but at the prone body of his little brother. "ALPHONSE!"_

_ The whiteness swallowed his scream as he rushed forward, falling to his knees before a Gate that was not his own. His brother's body lied motionless before it, thin and emaciated by four years trapped in this nothingness. A long, wild mane of honey-blond hair hung over his face like a thick golden curtain, hiding the features of the only person who had ever believed in him, and he felt something in his chest wither and die._

_ "No, no, no, no, no," he chanted desperately, reaching out with a trembling hand to sweep that heavy golden fall aside. Alphonse's eyes were open, blank pools of dull gold as they gazed not at him, but at something __**beyond **__him, and he was terrified that he was too late. "Wake up, Al. Al – Alphonse, please, __**please, **__wake up! Alphonse! Don't do this to me, Al! Please, DON'T BE DEAD!"_

_ He didn't know how long he sat there – minutes, hours, years – clinging to the only family he had left, begging his little brother __**not to leave him.**__ He rocked back and forth, his face buried in his brother's hair, his mind fracturing with each unwanted breath. For four long years, he'd searched for an answer, for a way to restore Al to the body that __**his **__stupidity had robbed him of, to give him back his __**life. **__And now __**his **__love for the wrong man had taken that life away. _

_ "I'm sorry, Al," he whispered brokenly, inconsolable in the face of his own perfidy. "I never meant to do this to you, not to __**you. **__Please, Al, forgive me. I didn't mean to love him more than you."_

_ "Don't be stupid, Edward!" Edward jumped, startled, as the body in his arms began to stir. "You can't blame yourself for what The Colonel is doing. He's the one who went crazy, not you."_

_Edward stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to believe what his senses were telling him. He'd finally lost it, he thought dimly. He'd gone crazy and lost his fucking mind! And yet, he could feel flesh and hair as Alphonse's head tipped back over his arm, could see __**life **__as his large honeyed eyes scrunched at the corners and his chapped lips curved into a smile. _

_No fucking way! Ed thought with the first stirrings of panic. Dead was dead. You couldn't cheat it, and you sure as hell couldn't reverse it! He knew __**that**__ better than anyone. So how the fuck was it that his dead brother was sitting here__** talking **__to him?! _

_"You know I'm not really here, Ed," the other – boy, man, thing? – scolded him gently. "My soul's still there," he lifted a hand and pointed at the unfamiliar Gate, "waiting for __**you. **__Don't make me wait too long, brother. It's only going to make it harder to find me another."_

_"But, I don't understand. Another __**what, **__Al?" His little brother began to laugh, a lilting, __**happy **__sound that he hadn't heard since childhood, and Edward began to tremble, afraid in a way that he had never been before. "You told me before that you couldn't come with me, that only your soul could guide your body from The Gate. If your body is dead, how the fuck are you supposed to do that?"_

_"It's too late for this body, Edward." Alphonse's voice shifted, pitching both higher and lower, amalgamating into that eerie sexless voice he'd heard before. "It has already been forced to the end of its span." _

_Alphonse's image shifted, the color leeching from his already pale skin, his hair disintegrating in a slow crawl of jet-lined white, and he __**knew.**__ "You piece of shit!" he screamed furiously, gloved hands clenching around too-thin shoulders as he shoved the monstrosity away. "Who the fuck do you think you are? That's MY BROTHER you just killed!"_

_He lunged at the boy-shaped silhouette before him, roaring with rage as it dissipated before his very eyes. "Are you truly so foolish as to believe that you are the only alchemist eager to seek Truth this day?"_

_Those damning words seemed to come from all around him, bombarding him with a truth he didn't know if he could face. "No!" He staggered back, stunned by what those disembodied words, and the betrayal that they implied. "Oh God, no! He wouldn't do that to me! He-he couldn't!"_

_"That body is beyond saving, __**Fullmetal,"**__ The voice sounded again behind him, and he whirled frantically to face it, even as his worse fears were confirmed with that one hated word. "You must find another path if you wish to save your brother's soul."_

_Truth's featureless face blurring as his eyes filled with tears. He reached up and wiped them away with an impatient hand, but they kept coming, spilling down his face in an uncontrollable steam. Mustang hadn't just tried to kill him, he'd killed __**Alphonse **__too!_

_"How could you let him do that?!" he screamed, his voice breaking as grief vied with fury for possession of his heart. "He was __**my **__brother! The toll was mine to pay, not Mustang's!"_

_"And yet, pay it he did," came the agonizing response, "though in a way that was. . .unexpected."_

_Edward dropped to his knees, sobbing so hard that he could barely draw breath. "Alphonse," he groaned miserably, completely overwhelmed by grief. He'd worn that he would get his brother's body back. He'd __**promised. **__The blood seal that bound Al's soul to his armor was already weakening. If he couldn't deliver, if he couldn't fix the mistake he had made so many years ago, his little brother's soul would __**die,**__ and he would have __**nothing **__left to live for._

_No, this couldn't be the end, Edward thought, ignoring the desperation that danced along the edge of his consciousness. There had to be something he could do, some other way he could keep Al with him. It was there, it had to be, he just had to fucking figure it out!_

_Truth had mentioned something about finding another path, but for all his vaunted genius, he could think of nothing that would bring Al's physical body back from __**death. **__"It's not possible," he muttered, his voice was little more than a strained rasp as he finally lifted his head. "I've read all the books, I've done all the research. You think I don't know that human transmutation is impossible? __**You**__ taught me that lesson well enough," he added bitterly. _

_ That rounded head tilted to one side. "Strong are the ties that bind, alchemist." _

_"Ties that bind?" Edward spat as he took an aggressive step forward. "What the __**fuck **__is that supposed to mean...?"_

_His voice trailed off as his eyes widened with comprehension. The binding array, he thought excitedly, the one he'd used to bind Al's soul to Hohenheim's ancient suit of armor. If he could find the right vessel, he could save Al by binding his soul to it. It wasn't perfect, and there was always a chance that whatever container he chose would reject the foreign soul, but – maybe – it would by him some time._

_Edward watched as a mouth appeared on the personification of Truth, a large set of teeth bared in what could only be described as a shit-eating grin, and scowled darkly. "Send me back!" he demanded, pointing one white-gloved finger threateningly at the bane of his existence. "Send me back so I can save my little brother!"_

_The smile widened impossibly, stretching across its head until it threatened to completely engulf it. An arm appeared first, then a leg, splashes of vivid gold set against an impossibly monochromatic backdrop, and Edward shook his tawny head negatively. _

_"You can fucking keep them," he said flatly, and he meant it. So long as he had Alphonse, he didn't need anything else. "Take whatever else you want from me too, just leave me enough to save my brother."_

_"That was the right choice," the arm changed, golden flesh melding with streaks of gunmetal gray, and Edward flinched at what it signified, "Edward." _

_Truth, and The Gate he guarded, began to waver, stretching and warping as the transmutation ended, and Edward let his eyes fall shut. He felt the pain of countless needle-like hands, sinking into his body and soul as was he dragged backwards through The Gate, but he didn't fight it. He didn't know what he would find back in the world of the living, but so long as he had his brother, he didn't really care. As long as he and Al were together, he would never ask for anything else, for as long as he fucking lived. _

Edward opened his eyes to a world painted in shades of death. The walls were splattered in its crimson brilliance, the floor on which he laid drenched with it. He could see a body from where he lay, burnt almost beyond recognition. It lied on its stomach, face turned towards him, one arm stretched _towards _ him,the other folded awkwardly beneath it. The eyes were gone, the sockets little more than blackened hollows, the jaw opened wide in a soundless scream.

He choked back a scream of his own as his gaze fell to the charred remnants of the corpse's back. Right there, right above where the torso curved into waist, on the only patch of unblemished flesh left on Hawkeye's body, was the only identifying mark he would ever need. Roy had told him about the tattoo once, about how his mentor had inked the secrets of his craft onto his daughter's back in an attempt to keep the dangerous alchemy from falling into the wrong hands.

Edward remembered being horrified by the story. _"What kind of monster would do that to his own daughter?" _he had demanded with outrage, his mind conjuring up images of Nina Tucker against his will. Roy had just shrugged, a faraway look in his dark eyes that suggested he was seeing something else altogether. Then, his gaze had sharpened and he'd taken Edward's flesh hand and guided his fingertips over the back of his own right hand.

Edward choked back a sob as he remembered it, the sensation of flowing script, to minute to be seen with the naked eye, beneath his fingertips. It had been coupled with the realization that Roy Mustang carried an even greater burden he ever could have imagined. Written an arcane language very few could comprehend, let alone translate, the ancient words spelled out the full secrets of one of the oldest forms of alchemy known to man. Roy explained that he had added them to the simplified flame array carved into his hand after the fight with the homunculus Lust, his intention to prevent himself from ever being laid so low again. He and Havoc had nearly died that day, and the aftermath had shaken Roy more than anyone had known.

_"Do you see now," _he'd asked in the soft, loving voice reserved only for _him, "why he was so determined to keep his work from ever falling into the military's hands?"_

Yes, he had, Edward thought as the salamander on Hawkeye's back blurred further and further out of focus. He'd felt the power in that inactive sigil, the potential for destruction that had caused an old man to maim his only child in an attempt to protect the world from its power, and he had _understood._

Or believed that he had, Edward thought as grief threatened to choke him. He blinked as his eyes stung and burned, rolling onto his back to block out the sight of his dead friend. He ignored the wet, sticky liquid that clung to his hair and clothes, lifting a hand to dash away the moisture on his cheeks. He froze, his lips parting on a choked cry pain as fresh agony surged through him. His arms were on fire, a deep, searing pain that he felt all the way to the bone, and he wondered if Roy – no, not Roy, _Mustang –_ had somehow used his alchemy to burn him from the _inside out._

He clenched his teeth and pushed through the pain, half-rolling onto his side as he worked to get his throbbing arms under him. He pushed himself upright, his jaw locking as his traitorous limbs threatened to buckle beneath him. He swore and fought and struggled until he was sitting upright, his chest heaving as that little bit of exertion almost proved too much for him. He blinked sweat and blood and tears out of his eyes, feeling his heart sink as he got his first good look at his surroundings.

The blood was _everywhere. _It was smeared across the rounded walls, dripping from the pipes that ran up into the darkened ceiling, covering the cold cement ground beneath him in a fine scarlet glaze. . .the unfamiliar room was literally _drenched_ in congealed blood. Even worse were the bodies strewn haphazardly throughout the area, some showing signs of the flame alchemy that was Mustang's trademark, others bearing long slashes that looked like sword or knife wounds. The one thing they all had in common was their presence inside of a giant alchemic array – an array which _Edward _sat at the heart of.

A human transmutation circle.

Wrought of white chalk and thick black ash, its circumference spanned the entire width of the circular room, and told a story too horrible to be fathomed. Mustang had done this, had committed the ultimate taboo, and he had sacrificed innocent _human beings _to do it.

"You utter fucking bastard!" Edward shouted, slamming his hands down into the ground on either side of him. Blood flew up to splatter his face and hair, and he bit back a sob as he fought the urge to break down and just fucking _cry_. "How could you do this to them, Roy? How could you do to this to _her? _She fucking _loved _you!_"_

His voice dropped to a low, tortured whisper as he added, _"I _fucking loved you, you treacherous piece of shit!"

Mustang was nowhere to been seen, of course. He'd killed all these fucking people and left him alone to deal with the aftermath. "I will kill you for this, Mustang!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

He lifted his shaking hands, glaring at the blood coating them, at the macabre proof his lover's betrayal. His once-white gloves were soaked clear through, the thin fabric heavy with moisture, dripping blood onto his thighs even as he watched, but that wasn't what caused his heart skip a beat and redouble savagely. It was the sensation of cold, tacky, _wet _blood that made his eyes widen and his lips part on a gasp. He could _feel _the sanguine liquid that made his glove cling to his hand, could discern its thick, cloying texture by touch alone, something that he _shouldn't be able to do_.

Trepidation battled with hope as he slowly clenched his right hand into a fist. A part of him refused to believe it, unable to accept that he could've been _rewarded_ for his spectacular failure. Truth didn't give, it took, usually more than you could afford to give. And yet, he couldn't deny what he _felt,_ and he was left to wonder exactly what he had lost in exchange for this "gift".

The shaking increased, becoming violent shudders that wracked his entire body, as Edward slowly – hesitantly – grasped the hem of his glove. He was terrified to take it off, to find out that this was all an illusion and that he was still a stupid fucking cripple. But he was even more afraid to discover that he was _right_.

Al, he reminded himself with determination. He had to get to Al and make sure his little brother was safe until he found another vessel to bind him to. He couldn't afford to sit here on ass and let his fears get the better of him. He wasn't living for himself anymore. He would never again make the mistake of reaching for more than he deserved. From this moment on, it would all be for Alphonse.

His lips flattened into a determined line as he grasped the bottom of his right glove in his left hand. It clung stubbornly to his – automail, skin? – to his hand, and he yanked with all of his might. It came flying off, slipping from his grasp to disappear somewhere in the darkened gloom, but he didn't notice, too caught up in the wonder of flesh and blood and bone.

Thinner streaks of crimson stained his golden skin, and Edward couldn't help but trace one with a quivering fingertip. His remaining glove left a fresh smear of scarlet across the back of his hand, and he stripped it off impatiently, dropping it to the ground beside him. He ran his left hand over his right, marveling at the play of muscles beneath his skin, tenderly tracing tendons and the delicate contours of human bone. It was a fucking _wonderful _feeling.

He closed his hand in a fist, closing his eyes as pain lashed through the entire length of his arm. An answering throb came from his left, and his golden brows pulled in a frown. He could understand why his right arm hurt – fuck, he'd be shocked if it didn't – but his left arm should _not _ be aching like this.

He studied his left hand closely, but could find nothing wrong. There were no signs of fire damage, no telltale reddening of the skin, no melted sections of flesh, so why the fuck did it hurt so damned much?

Edward shoved the sleeve of his jacket up over his forearm _– a shadow bent over him, skin blistering and peeling away to reveal muscle, bone and sinew, "From one brother to another, take his gift and use it well, Edward Elric," –_ and let out a scream of pure anguish.

_Reconstruction._

It echoed and rebounded, ringing loudly in his ears, winding itself through his very soul, just like the tattoo now seared into his flesh. Dense white lines, sweeping ebony curves, the Grand Arcane come to life on _his _unworthy flesh. Was this really all that Scar's life had been worth, an endless circle of blood and death, a sacrifice for an ally undeserving of him?

He frantically dragged his right sleeve back and found what he'd been dreading, the first half of the ancient array, the section that had made the deaths of fourteen State Alchemists possible. "Comprehension and deconstruction," he whispered thickly, tears flowing freely down his face as he hung his head.

_Why did you do it? _he begged the dead man silently, sobbing as he buried his face in his hands._ Why did you sacrifice yourself for an arrogant, ignorant brat like __**me?!**_

There were no answers to comfort him, no uncomfortable silences to vex him, no weirdly poetic philosophical bullshit to confound him. There was nothing of Scar, the brother, the murder, or the proud Ishvalan, just like there was nothing left of Lieutenant Hawkeye. Scar may have made the decision to save his life, and Riza had clearly been ready to sacrifice herself to save Roy, but it was he and Mustang who were responsible for all of this. _They_ had killed them both, and it fell to Edward to make sure that their sacrifices hadn't been in vain. It didn't cleanse the blood that stained his hands – he had a feeling that nothing fucking could – but at least he could _avenge _them.

He knew it was a slippery slope, the path of vengeance, but it was one that he would – that he _could -_ tread, if only for the sake of those who still lived. He wasn't like Roy. He would never sacrifice his soul for the sake of revenge. But his allies were still down here somewhere, fighting to save Amestris from Father and his monster children, and they couldn't do it alone. Once that was done, and the country was spared, it would be just he and Al again, and _then _he could dedicate the rest of his life to making things right.

He swiped at his damp cheeks and forcing himself to stand on his own two feet. He wasn't a child in need of comfort anymore – Mustang and his own naiveté had seen to _that_ – and it was a lesson he would _never _forget. He was a grown fucking man, and it was past time he started acting like one.

Edward stripped off his ruined jacket, the deep red shade one he would never wear again, and stumbled over to Lieutenant Hawkeye. He draped it over as gently as he could, bowing his head in a gesture of respect. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he told her quietly, his guilt almost more than he could bear. "I know you loved him, but I have to stop him now. I hope you understand."

There was no response, but then, he wasn't expecting one. He just hoped that wherever her soul had gone, in whatever after life she'd believed in, she could forgive him for what he was about to do, because he sure as hell would never forgive himself.

Edward turned away, intent on hunting Mustang down so he could _end _this, when a faint glimmer caught his eye. He dropped into a defensive crouch, his golden eyes darting nervously through the darkened chamber, when he saw it again. There, in the very center of the room, at the heart of the transmutation array, an azure-tinged light shined luminously beneath the spill of rapidly drying blood.

He frowned and cautiously made his way towards it, kneeling before the spot where he had awakened such a short time ago. The glow deepened even as he watched, creating an eerie effect as the blood seemed ripple over it. He shook his fair head and reached down, grimacing as he used his bare hands to scoop the sanguine liquid out of his way, and his breath caught as he saw what he'd uncovered.

It was another transmutation circle, simple yet elegantly drawn, an array within an array. Why would Mustang need two human transmutation circles? Edward asked himself with surprise. Just one would have been sufficient for resurrection, had bringing back the dead actually been possible, so again. . .why?

Edward glanced back at where Hawkeye laid, a vague shape under a blood-red shroud, and thought that maybe he knew. He'd like to think that, somewhere in the depths of Mustang's rotten soul, there was some tiny piece of the man he'd once been, enough to have at least _attempted _to make things right. Unfortunately, not even _he _was naïve enough to believe something like that anymore. Roy was gone – for good – and it was something he was going to have to learn to life with.

He sighed tiredly and forced himself to his feet, following the blood trail out of the room. He spied four sets of footprints, each a difference size, marring the blood-swathed path before him. The tread patterns of the first three were unmistakable, the design created specifically for the Amestrian Military. The fourth he didn't recognize, but he didn't doubt that one of those sets of prints belonged to Mustang. Edward would bet his pocket watch on it. He just hoped that he found him in time to keep him from killing anyone else.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I only _wish_ I owned the rights to Edward Elric and Roy Mustang and Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood. If I did, it would have been a hellova lot more violent, and yaoi. Definitely yaoi.

**Plot Synopsis: **The world doesn't end with a transmutation, it ends with a Flame. AU, RoyxEd.

**Author's Note: **This is the next 20 pages or so of what was originally Chapter 2. Once we get to chapter 4, you'll see why I had to section it the way that I did. It was just too damned long, lol.

I wanted to thank those who have left reviews. I'm fond of saying that reviews are an important part of the creative process, and the constructive feedback DOES help. So, THANK YOU.

Beta'd by the wonderful xxTigerAvatarxx, who is doing her best to work The Fires Within into her busy schedule. Any mistakes from here on out are all mine. Now, on with the show!

* * *

**The Fires Within**

Chapter Three

Edward made his way through the winding, twisting labyrinthine turns that comprised the underground warren. There was a nagging ache in his left leg, the automail clattering in a way that told him it had been damaged. He knew that he shouldn't be surprised. He'd been traveling and fighting almost nonstop for weeks now, and it was due to have had _some _effect on his prosthetics. He didn't know if the problem was in the make-up of the cold-climate automail that Winry had replaced the original with, or if it was just the result of all the strain he'd been putting on it. He just hoped that it wouldn't fail at a crucial moment. He'd need every bit of strength he possessed, every dirty trick he'd ever fucking learned, to beat Roy Mustang.

The sounds of battle drifted down the hallway towards him, and he quickened his mismatched stride. The sense of malevolence—Mei's all-important _chi—_grew stronger with every uneven step that he took, and the air was thick with the distinctive tang of alchemy. He couldn't deny the fear that trilled through him as he drew ever closer, knowing that he would soon be face-to-face with a twisted vision of the man he loved. This would the hardest thing he had ever done, but do it he would, if it meant saving those who'd put their trust in him. He wouldn't let anyone else down.

He found more bodies in the corridor, just outside of Father's den. Zampano and Jerso had fought to the last, as was evident by the multitude of burn wounds covering the chimeras' motionless bodies, but it was _Scar _ who had suffered the most. The Ishvalan man lay slumped at the foot of the massive doors, little more than a charred mass of burnt flesh and seared bone. His only identifying marks were the lighter section of skin where his scar had once been, and his two missing arms. He didn't know how Scar had survived long enough to make it this far, but it didn't really matter. He was dead, and nothing could bring him back.

Edward fought a fresh spring of tears, Scar's last gifts to him curling into fists at his sides. He wished he knew enough about Ishvalan religion to say a prayer, or something properly profound and obscure for the fallen man, but he sucked when it came to pretty words, and his faith didn't extend any farther than his alchemy. Much as he had with Hawkeye, all he could do was promise to avenge him by killing his murderer, and hope it would be enough.

It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but he did it. He forced himself to step _over _ the body of the fallen man, to push his grief aside as he faced the imposing metal doors that marked the entrance of the Homunculi lair. He drew a deep breath and placed both hands flat on the either door, feeling the vibrations of the battle through his naked palms. He closed his eyes and cocked his head, listening to the unmistakable snap of Mustang's ignition gloves, and the voices of his friends as they called out to one another. They were in trouble, fighting for their fucking lives, and _he _was stuck out here, hesitating because he was afraid of _failing._

Fuck that! Edward thought angrily. He wasn't a coward, damn it! Yeah, he was fucking scared, but considering what he was about to do, he thought—he hoped—that it was at least _understandable._ He didn't have his prosthetic arm anymore, meaning that he wouldn't be able to use his automail blade in this battle, and it had literally been _years _since he'd fought without it. He also had a new form of alchemy, one that he'd never used before, to take into battle alongside his own. Sure, he'd seen it in action, but that wasn't the same thing. What if he blew himself up with the first transmutation? What if he blew _someone else_ up?

Edward stared hard at his right arm, studying the complex array closely. Scar had said that his brother had recreated The Grand Arcane from a combination of Xingese Alkahestry history and ancient Amestrian Alchemy texts. It was basic alchemy, just with a. . . twist. All he had to do was figure out exactly how _this _particular array worked, and then he'd be able to control it. Simple enough, right?

As though a veil had been lifted, images began to flow through behind his eyes, ripping through his brain at a staggering pace. _Terra_ for the earth_, Aer _for, well,_ air._ Twin snakes, entwined in the Caduceus pattern, signifying equilibrium, the scales that represented Ling's all-important "Dragon Pulse", the downward arrows which signified outward flow. . .

The Gate, he thought with sudden comprehension. He had absorbed more knowledge through the Gate of Truth than anyone else alive. Every time he passed through it, he acquired a little more. Thanks to his bat-shit crazy, lying bastard of a Colonel, he'd gained all that he would ever fucking need to know about Scar's amalgamated destructive alchemy.

_I'm sorry, Roy. _

Edward drew a deep fortifying breath, pictured the array in his mind, and let the energy simply _flow. _His right arm began to glow with a familiar blue light, his blood singing in his veins as a power greater than he'd ever know surged through the length of his body. He licked his lips as it rose up inside of him, growing in intensity until he knew that he had to either release it or be consumed.

He directed the power outward, imagined the pair of doors flying inwards, bursting open in a violent explosion of power, and that's exactly what they did. Both of the massive barriers were wrenched off of their moorings as they blew apart, the explosion powerful enough to send thick chunks of jagged rock hurtling into the chamber. The debris vanished, completely enveloped in a miasma of thick black smoke and searing red-gold flame. Edward knew his eyes were wide as he ducked into the room and hurriedly edged along the wall to his right, as his mind struggled to make sense out of the bedlam before him.

It was utter and complete chaos, and _Mustang _ was at the heart of it. He stood in the center of the cavernous room, his clothes and hair billowing back from his body, his arms swinging with every deafening snap of his gloved fingers. The First Homunculus and Von Hohenheim, once the bitterest of enemies, now stood side by side, fighting _together _as they faced a common foe. Their alchemy flared in brilliant shades of scarlet and crimson around them, sending zigzagging waves of pure actinic energy hurling through the cavernous chamber. It was an impressive sight, or would have been, if Mustang weren't nullifying their alchemy before it could even touch him.

He'd never known that fire could burn so _hot,_ Edward thought with amazement. One minute shaded red and gold, the next burning with white-tinged azure heat. Mustang's flames absorbed everything the two men threw at him, even as the next snap sent another ravenous blaze speeding towards them. It was a beautiful, lethal display, and Edward gained a whole new appreciation for the arcane art of Flame Alchemy.

It was almost tragic that he was about to kill its only remaining master.

He saw Greed—or was it Ling?—jumping and dodging on the west side of the room. His hair, pulled back into its customary ponytail, steamed out behind him like an ebony ribbon. Fuhrer Bradley, the homunculus Wrath, sped after him, bearing down on him with his rapier drawn. The sword flashed silver as it cut through smoke, ash and flame alike, its blade already stained red with blood. A deep voice boomed out, a boisterous laugh of sheer exhilaration, and Edward rolled his eyes as his question was answered. That was _definitely _Greed. No one enjoyed a good ass-kicking quite as much the rogue homunculus.

"Come on, Wrath!" Greed taunted the other homunculus, his expression reflecting the delight in his voice as he sliced a quartet of wounds across Bradley's chest. "Can't you take down a _superior _homunculus? Or do your skills only work on half-breed chimerae?"

Bradley's craggy, aged face never changed from its arrogantly determined lines, although disgust blazed from his single green eye as he landed on the ground a few feet away from his "older brother". "Greed, you talk too much," he spat, his normally jovial voice heavy with disdain as he launched himself back into the fray.

Edward saw that he was bleeding from a wound in his stomach, and that his left eye was dripping blood too, and hoped like hell that it fucking _hurt. _After everything he'd done to screw up their country, it was the very least he deserved. A part of Edward was curious enough to wonder what had happened to that eye, the one with the Ouroboros tattoo, the "Ultimate Eye" that allowed the human-based homunculus to predict his enemy's movements, but he didn't really give a fuck. He just wanted Greed to kill the two-faced son of a bitch before he did any more damage to his friends or his nation.

"Take this, you worthless military dog!"

And, _that_ would be Teacher, Edward thought proudly, the woman who'd taught him almost everything he knew about fighting and alchemy. The insult was immediately followed by a raucous _boom,_ one which finally forced Mustang to move from his entrenched position. The older man dove out of the way as a giant cannonball came zooming out of the smoke, tucking his body and rolling to protect himself as it crashed into the floor where he had stood only moments before. His head came up right away, his ice-black eye reflecting his fires as they narrowed furiously, his ire focusing on the deceptively slender woman with the long mane of dreadlocked hair.

The smoke thinned for the few moments it took for Mustang to right himself, and Edward caught a glimpse of Izumi Curtis, sitting astride a giant stone cannon. She grinned maniacally as she alchemically shifted the cannon, changing its position as she fired another shot. Mustang didn't even try to evade the strike this time. He merely smiled, a cold, predatory gesture that sent chills down Edward's spine, and _changed._

Almost faster than the eye could see, darkness flowed from his body. Creeping threads of pitch-black night swirled around him, absorbing the light even as it reshaped its shadows. It rose up behind him, a sinister shade without shape or substance, and Edward felt his terror return anew. Large eyes grew out of the darkness, vivid violet iris' with thin slashes of catlike jet streaking their unnatural centers, their exaggerated, almost caricaturistic slant emphasized as they narrowed on Izumi with deadly intent.

The cannonball disappeared into the rippling raven mass, sucked into it with barely a ripple. A myriad of obsidian spears shot out of the darkness above Mustang's head, slicing through the air with a faint whistling sound. They hurtled relentlessly towards Izumi, and she hastily changed tactics. She clapped her hands and slammed them onto the cannon, transmuting the offensive weapon into a solid wall of protective stone. Mustang's unnatural weapons stabbed through the barrier with terrifying ease, causing the stone to crumble and plummet to the ground. Izumi looked up with a consternated expression, one which quickly changed to _pissed the fuck off _ as she slammed her palms together a second time.

A single gaping mouth materialized amidst the lances of blackness, two rows of jagged, razor-sharp teeth growing out of the cavernous maw. Her dark brown eyes widened as she gazed up at the phenomenon, her mouth falling open in an unguarded expression of shock, even as she brought her glowing hands up to protect herself. The mouth shattered into a million glittering piece of jet, turning to ash as they fluttered down over Izumi, and Edward couldn't contain his own gasp of stunned surprise.

What the _fuck_ had Roy done to himself?!

Edward's mind flashed back to the enormous array, the human transmutation rite that he'd been an unwitting part of, and the strange black-gray ash that had covered the bloodied circle, and he knew_._ Somehow, someway, Mustang had managed to—absorb, swallow, bond with?—the homunculus Pride! Mustang was a force to be reckoned with, a powerful alchemist in his own right, but _this _ shouldn't have been possible. He had somehow overcome one of Father's monsters and _merged _with it. It was un-fucking-believable!

But –obviously—it had happened, and unbelievable or not, Edward was done standing here with his mouth hanging open like a damned idiot. He needed to get his fucking ass into the fight and take Mustang _out._

Haunted golden eyes never left his maddened lover as Edward lifted his hands and slammed his palms together. Instead of the distinctive, bell-like resonation that usually came when he triggered a transmutation, he heard only the very ordinary sound of flesh striking flesh. He looked down at his hands, at the flesh-and-blood _gift _that Scar had forced on him, and realized just what toll Truth had taken.

"_Take whatever else you want from me too, just leave me enough to save my brother."_

"No, no, no!" he whispered with horror, spreading his fingers wide as he realized the enormity of his unthinking sacrifice. Not this. Anythingbut this! He needed his alchemy! How the _fuck _was he supposed to fight Mustang without it? How could he protect his _Al _if he didn't have it?!

He clapped again and again, his denial shattering just a little bit more with each mockingly normal sound. Oh God, he thought, Truth had _stolen his_ _fucking alchemy!_

Edward forced himself to think passed the panic, to push passed the fear clouding his mind. If his alchemy really was gone, if Truth had taken _his _Gate as toll for his passage, how the fuck did he explain his grand entrance here? He'd used alchemy to blow those massive fucking doors clear apart, and he hadn't _clapped _to do it. That meant, that while his own Gate might be gone, he still had access to Truth, just through a different medium.

Scar, he thought with startled comprehension. He had lost his Gate, but he'd gained _Scar's _in return. He could no longer do the alchemy he had spent his entire life studying, but he could use the amalgamation that Scar had bequeathed to him.

Relief poured through him, followed quickly by determination. He wasn't out of this fucking fight yet! He dropped into a crouch and brought not his right arm, but his _left _arm up before him. He concentrated on the foreign array, the one which Scar hadn't been given the chance to use, and bared his teeth in a fierce smile as the answer came to him.

He slammed his hand to the floor, the startlingly intense power he'd felt before rushing through his exhausted body. He channeled the energy as carefully as he could, his eyes narrowing on Mustang as he directed devastating torrents towards him. The ground erupted beneath the other man's feet, large hexagonal spikes shooting out of the ground to impale him. Mustang stumbled backwards, just barely avoiding the gruesome death Edward had planned for him, much to Edward's disappointment.

He cursed as frustration surged through him, and that spike of emotion was enough to shatter his concentration. The pikes exploded as Edward lost control of the unfamiliar alchemy, sending sharpened stone shrapnel flying at Mustang's face and eyes. The other man fell flat on his ass, shielding his face with one arm, while using the other send an explosion of red-hot flames spiraling towards Edward.

_Shit! _

Edward's golden eyes went wide as he hastily scrambled backwards. He raised his hand to conjure a second transmutation, the second coming up in a futile attempt to protect his face, when a familiar voice called out to him. "Brother!"

A loud thunderclap reverberated through the colossal chamber, and a large semi-circular barrier rose up out of the ground before him. Edward pressed himself back against it, scrunching up into a ball with his hands over his head, just as the fireball hit. It _whooshed _against the back of the enclosure, flames licking ravenously at the half-formed sides as they rushed passed, leaving nothing but fire and _heat _in their wake.

Edward choked as the temperature rose around him; Mustang's flames were drawing every bit of oxygen out of the air, making it impossible to take a decent breath. He had a vague memory of this happening before, the terrifying feeling of being suffocated as the air was sucked from his lungs. He could see Scar arching protectively over him, burning even as he used the last of his strength to ensure that _he _ survived, and he squeezed his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to banish the image.

The heaviness finally passed and Edward opened his eyes, licking his lips as he drew deep lungfuls of precious air. He rose shakily to his feet and yelled, "Al, are you okay?"

"We're fine!" Alphonse yelled back, his words punctuated by another clap. "What about you, brother? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm as good as new, thanks to you!" He crept to the end of the curved wall and peeked around it, grateful to see his brother unharmed and kicking ass the way Teacher had taught him. He caught a glimpse of Mei's ugly pink Xingese robe, and grinned his relief. "I'm gonna make my way over to you and—"

"No, we need you over there! Mei has a plain!" A markedly smaller stream of fire flared through the air towards Alphonse, and he quickly turned his back to it. He wrapped his arms around Mei, protecting the young Xingese princess with his armored body, until flames dissipated. "Brother, we need you to flank The Colonel and buy us some time!"

Edward did _not _like the sound of that. "Don't do anything stupid, Al!" he shouted worriedly. "I can't clap anymore, and Mustang's gone fucking crazy, in case you hadn't noticed!"

"Don't worry, Edward," Mei's young voice was filled with overblown confidence, and Edward rolled his eyes as he remembered how brash and cocky _he _had been at thirteen, "we can handle The Flame Alchemist!"

Fuck, the damned kid was going to get herself killed! he thought with alarm. Well, he'd just have to make sure that didn't happen. "I'm on it, Al!" he hollered with determination. "You just make sure you take care of yourself and the Obnoxious Brat!"

"We'll be fine, brother!" the younger man yelled in reply. "Just get to The Colonel!"

Mei's voice cut through the air shrilly, "You're no gentleman, Edward Elric!"

"Hey, just calling it like I see it!" he shouted back with a smile. The little brat had stars and hearts in her eyes, and he could only thank whatever deity was listening that _he _had disappointed her. Even if he hadn't fallen head-over-ass for Roy, Mei Chang was definitely _not _his type!

As for Mustang. . . He'd mourn later, after Roy was dead and Al was safe.

He pushed back a surge of grief and set his glowing hands on the floor, concentrating on the manipulation of the metal composition of the mineral-rich stone, altering it into something he could use. A long metal spear grew out of the ground, wickedly sharp points forming on either end. The Flame Alchemist might be known for ranged fighting, but Edward knew from experience that he was fully capable of up-close-and-personal, in-your-fucking-face combat. Roy had called it pinpoint accuracy. _He_ called it badass. Either way, this was _not _going to be easy.

Edward shoved memories of friendly spars aside, wrapped both hands around his weapon, and dashed to his left. It wasn't the direct approach that he preferred, but he was trying to _flank _the man, not meet him head on. He used the smoke from Mustang's flames as cover, doing his best to stay hidden, but he couldn't help the added noise from his automail leg. How the hell was he supposed to be sneaky when you could hear him coming a mile away?

Mustang's gaze flicked in his direction, zeroing in on him with disconcerting accuracy. The older man held his gaze for along, heart-stopping moment, the fires of hell literally burning in the depths of his beautiful obsidian eyes, and then he _smirked. _Edward let out a bellow of fury and rushed him, swinging his spear back and to the right. He was going to gut the crazy bastard, and then he was going to watch him bleed out and _die. _It was as simple—and as fucked up—as that.

Another shadowy lance emerged from the inky blackness at Mustang's back as he turned to face him fully, the unnatural projectile speeding towards Edward in a streak of ebony death. Edward raised his spear and slashed at it, slicing through it with surprising ease. He dashed through the disintegrating remnants, prepared to hack his way to Mustang if he had to, when the older man did something inexplicable.

He withdrew the darkness completely, pulled it back into his body, and used nothing more than his flames to defend against the others' attacks. He did it absently, with careless flicks of his wrists and lazy snaps of his fingers, all of his attention focused on Edward. His face was alight with anticipation as he stood tall and proud—and crazy as fuck—and simply _waited _ for Edward to reach him. There was no hint of fear in his eyes, no regret for what he had done—for what he was _doing—_only a sensual appreciation that was as disturbing as it was out of place. Somewhere, in the depths of his crazed mind, he still _wanted _Edward and—for the very first time—he wasn't even _trying _ to hide it.

Damn him, Edward thought as anguish ripped through him, he had _no_ _right. _He fought back a sob as he drew abreast of the older man, no longer trying for stealth as he raised his spear and prepared to drive it into the organ that passed for Mustang's heart. Mustang must have read his intentions on his face because he threw back head and began to_ laugh. _It was a darkly sadistic sound, one that Edward had heard only once before, and it sparked a rage inside of him that burned every bit as hotly as Roy Mustang's ever had.

Edward leapt the last few feet separating them, putting everything he had into the strike, determined to end his lover's rampage once and for all. Roy—_Mustang, _damn it!—surprised him by extending a gloved hand, palm facing up and fingers slightly curled, as though in welcome. Edward bared his lips in a sneer that belied the jolt of longing sweeping through him. He remembered what had happened back in the tunnel, and he'd be damned if he'd let the bastard fool him again!

He thought he heard Mustang murmur, "Pity," just he before the other man dropped to his knees, turned his palms inward, and _clapped. _His hands hit the floor hard, and Edward's world exploded in a violent eruption of alchemical energy. He was thrown back by the force of the blast, tossed into air like a rag doll, unable to check his descent as he was hurled across the gigantic chamber.

_When the hell had Mustang learned to do __**that?!**_

He hit the wall hard, dropping to the floor in a graceless heap. Dimly, heard his name being called, but the blackness hovering at the edges of his vision made it hard to respond. It was Al's voice, frantic with worry, which finally reached him. He tried to lift his head, to reassure his little brother that he was all right, and nearly vomited as his body rebelled.

Great, he thought fuzzily, another fucking concussion. He was going to give himself brain damage if he didn't starting being more careful.

Edward's vision blurred slightly, partly obscuring the sight of Mustang as he sauntered towards him. That evil fucking smirk still curled his lips, and Edward gritted his teeth as he fought to right himself. He was in a lot of fucking pain right now, and he could barely see straight, but if he stayed where he was Mustang _would _finish him, and he had too much left to do to let that happen.

"Yo, kid, heads up!"

Edward scrambled awkwardly to his right as a large white blur dropped out of the air between he and Mustang, his right hand glowing as he unconsciously readied another transmutation. But Mustang had withdrawn, jumping back and _away _from him, and the relief Edward felt was so strong that he had to close his eyes as it made the world dance crazily around him. The crazy fucker had backed the hell off, and that was _all _he fucking cared about right now.

When he opened his eyes, he discovered that the blur had been Fuhrer Bradley, and that Greed had literally _hurled _the homunculus to the ground right between he and Mustang. The older man raised one sable brow in an unbearably arrogant expression as he gazed down at his former leader, dark joy all but blazing from his ebony eyes, and Edward was grateful to realize that he had been temporarily forgotten.

Mustang stood over the fallen Fuhrer like a dark, avenging angel, his arms spread wide, Pride's shadows fanning out like great black wings behind him. Wrath's lips twisted into a contemptuous sneer as his hand tightened on his sword, and Mustang's laughter rang out once more.

"Look how the mighty have fallen," he commented with genuine—if twisted—amusement. He let his arms fall to his sides, the darkness a great seething mass at his back, and said, "The King is dead, long live The King," in a mocking voice.

"I'm not dead yet, Mustang," The Fuhrer growled, his voice barely audible as the sounds of Hohenheim's and Father's alchemy echoed through the chamber. "It will take more than an abomination like _you _to kill me."

Mustang merely shrugged his broad shoulders unconcernedly, the darkness absorbing every bit of energy thrown at him, his attention wholly focused on Bradley. "Let's put that to the test, shall we—sir?"

Wrath was bleeding heavily wounds almost too numerous to count, but he hadn't been chosen to become the first human-based homunculus for nothing. He came up swinging, his sword spraying droplets of blood in a wide arch as he struck. He buried the blade in deep Mustang's side, so deep that it resonated as it struck bone. Mustang looked down at himself, and with no discernable change of expression, reached down and wrapped a hand around the sword's grip. He pulled the blade free with a gush of rich crimson blood, and Edward watched dazedly as the wound began to heal in a flash-storm of bright scarlet light.

Mustang lifted the sword, turning it this way and that as he tested its balance. "It's a very nice blade, sir, but I can do you one better," he said malevolent simplicity.

Heavy, clanking footsteps pounded towards him, but Edward couldn't look away, too caught up in the perverse display before him. Mustang tossed the blade aside with a contemptuous flick of his wrist, smiling down at Bradley with a hunger that was pure Pride, and the darkness pounced. A great black blade formed out of the shadows, gleaming with disturbing obsidian light as it rose up high over Mustang's head.

"Brother!"

"Alphonse, stay there!" Edward ordered him in as authoritative a voice as he could manage, thrusting one arm out to warn him away. "Don't come any closer!"

The thundering footfalls stopped abruptly. "But we've got a _plan, _Brother!" Alphonse hollered in return. "Remember Pride?"

How could he forget, Edward thought with a touch of hysteria, when he staring straight into the dark heart of the Homunculus' power?

The darkness shot forward, stabbing into the soft flesh of Bradley's stomach, pinning him to the floor below. The older man responded with a muted grunt of pain, his one good eye narrowing on his tormentor. Serrated teeth gleamed from within the night-black folds of Mustang's darkness, invisible lips parting in an impossibly wide grin, and Wrath never faltered as he ripped the unnatural blade free and lunged forward to meet the threat head-on.

Not even he was fast enough to outrun death.

Mustang turned his maddened gaze back to him, and Edward hastily scrambled to his feet, even as the pain in his skull threatened to bring him crashing right back down. "Just hurry the fuck up and do whatever you're going to do, Al!"

The darkness cut through the air with a strange wine, faster than Edward had ever seen it attack. He lifted his right arm out of habit, remembered too late that he didn't have his automail, and prayed that Scar's destructive alchemy would be enough to save his life.

He reached out and let the first tendril to reach curl around his arm, activating the Grand Arcane with only a thought. Powerful alchemic energy sizzled and surged along the elongated lance of darkness, zooming up its shadowy length and slamming into Mustang in a searing flash of alchemy. Mustang threw his head back and screamed in agony, falling to his knees as the darkness burst apart in a violent explosion of thick ebony ash.

Greed landed lithely behind the stunned man, one clawed hand splayed out on the ground for balance, his eyes little more than narrowed pools of glowing white energy. His skin was dark gunmetal gray, completely covered by the natural armor of his Ultimate Shield, every inch the powerful homunculus as he focused on the horror Mustang had become.

"Do it, Al," his voice was little more than bestial growl as he leapt at Mustang's unprotected back. "Do it _now!"_

The homunculus thrust one hand deep into Mustang's back, the other wrapping around tight around his throat, holding him in place as he searched the other man's chest cavity for Pride's and Wrath's Philosopher's Stones. "Damn it, kid, clap your fucking hands already. I'm not going to be able to hold him for long!"

"But what about you?" Alphonse protested, hesitating with his hands mere inches apart. "What about _Ling?"_

The homunculus growled his frustration as Mustang regained enough awareness to begin struggling. "We'll be fine, kid!" he shouted angrily, allowing Ling's consciousness to thread with his own, hoping that hearing it from someone he considered a friend would be enough to reassure him. "He's right, Alphonse. We'll be fine, so long as you hurry."

The hulking suit of armor that was the youngest Elric brother shifted with a clanking noise, a physical manifestation of his uncertainty, and Greed had had enough. The kid's crazy Colonel was fighting in earnest now, and it wouldn't be long before he recovered enough energy to regenerate Pride's shadows. He didn't have _time_ for this sentimental bullshit!

He shoved Ling back into the depths of his own consciousness, stubbornly digging his claws into Mustang's neck, his sharpened fingertips sinking deep enough to send blood flowing over his hand. "Kid, talk some fucking sense into your brother," he yelled to Edward urgently. "Tell him to quit fucking arguing and just _do it _already!"

By now, Edward had a pretty good idea of what Al had planned, and he was _all _for it. "I'm on it, Greed!"

He grinned ferociously at the blur that was his friend as he raced across the chamber to his join his brother. It was about fucking time things went their way! He skidded to a stop beside Alphonse, little more than a vague impression of pale gray metal, and dropped heavily to his knees. He saw another blur just beyond him, pink and purple and tiny as hell, and flashed what had to be Mei an encouraging smile.

"Come on," he told them encouragingly, "he'll be fine. Let's kick Mustang's ass together!"

"Right!" Alphonse's metal helmet turned towards him, those lights shining brighter as they promptly blurred out of focus. "Together, brother!"

He heard more than saw the distinctive clang of Mei's five Xingese daggers hitting the ground and knew that she was ready. Alphonse clapped his leather-gloved hands, the all too familiar sound ringing through the colossal room, and Edward nodded as he touched his own fingertips to the floor. All three arrays activated simultaneously, their combined alchemic energy racing along the ground, weaving a destructive path through the smooth stone until it reached the two struggling men. Huge slabs of rock-hewn earth rose up out of the floor, spiraling around Greed and Mustang until they were completely encased in an airtight prison.

"Thank motherfucking God!" Edward exclaimed with relief, sending a relieved smile in his brother's direction. "See, you were worried for nothing, Al."

"But their air won't last long, Ed," Alphonse's never turned to face him, and Edward squinted as he followed his gaze to the cone of smooth rock. "What if Ling loses consciousness before Colonel Mustang does? He'll be helpless in there."

Edward snorted and waved his worry away, not even sure that Greed _needed _to breathe to stay alive. "I think that Greed can take care of them both, Al."

"Not if he ends up unconscious, too!"

Edward took a closer look at his brother, forcing himself to focus as best he could. What he saw was his little brother, practically _wringing _his hands in concern, and promptly burst out laughing. You have _got _to be fucking kidding me, he thought with amusement. His baby brother was deep in the throes of his first major crush, and it was with the cheap, shifty, squinty-eyed, pain in the ass _prince? _

"Oh, Al." He wrapped his arms around his middle and shook his tawny head, grateful to have something to laugh about in the midst of all this death. "Ling? I mean, come on, _Ling?"_

"Ling?" Mei sounded startled—and a little bit angry—and Edward belatedly remembered that she'd transferred her own short-lived crush to Al after the crushing disappointment of meeting _him. _"That better not mean what I think it means, Alphonse Elric!"

"What?" The younger man's impossibly broad shoulders hunched with a telling creak of leather and metal. "Don't you dare laugh at me, Ed! And what's wrong with Ling?"

Edward chortled even harder at that. "You mean besides the fact that he's sneaky, eats more than his weight in food, and shares his body with a greedy homunculus?" he questioned rhetorically. " Why, nothing, Al. Nothing at all."

"Edward. . ." His brother's voice hardened just enough to tell him that he was treading on dangerous ground, and Edward quickly backed off. They last thing he wanted was to piss his little brother off, especially since he'd never won a fight against him! Besides, it wasn't like _his _taste in lovers was any better.

That thought sobered him, and he turned back to join his brother in his rock-gazing. "Sorry," he mumbled apologetically. "I just thought. . .I didn't even know that you _liked _guys like that. Besides, what happened to you marrying Winry? You won that fight, remember?"

"We were kids, Ed." The slightest hint of impatience colored his brother's tinny voice. "I liked Winry for a long time, but she never showed me the slightest interest. It was always _you _that she liked. I had to move on, brother."

Edward winced at that. Contrary to popular belief, he _did _notice the shit going on around him, and Winry's crush on him had been both flattering and bewildering—and, for a time, returned. Then, Roy had dragged him across his desk in a fit of anger and kissed him senseless. From that moment on, Edward had belonged to him, and he knew with unquestionable certainty that he always would.

"Ling will be all right," he assured the younger man in a quieter, more subdued voice. Neither of them acknowledged Mei as she muttered under her breath about the Yao Clan's accursed good fortune beside them. "Greed will keep him safe while we figure out how to kill Roy—" he winced and hastily corrected himself, "I mean, Mustang! How to kill _Mustang_."

"Are you boys all right?"

Edward look over his shoulder to see Hohenheim slowly making his way towards them, and was almost glad for the haze that his concussion was casting over everything. He made a rude sound and looked away, ignoring Alphonse's hiss of, "Ed, he's our dad!" as he did so. If Von Hohenheim had been any kind of father, he wouldn't have left their mother to die alone, fucking _pining _for him. And he sure as hell wouldn't have left his two sons alone to try to perform human transmutation to bring her back. But Alphonse barely remembered the old man, and if he wanted to get to know him Edward wouldn't stand in his way, but _he _wanted nothing to do with him.

Hohenheim came to a halt beside Alphonse and gazed down at him with sad, weary eyes that Edward could—unfortunately—see, and he wanted nothing more than to punch the look right off of his face. "We're fine," he answered shortly, stifling a groan as he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. "I'm gonna go check on Greed."

He paused and looked passed Hohenheim to his homunculus clone. He couldn't be sure right now, but it _looked _like Izumi was helping the old man onto what was left of his "throne". "What about him?" he asked at length. "We're not going to have to fight him too, are we?"

The older man tucked his hands into his trouser pockets with a troubled expression. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "The Dwarf's Stone is nearly depleted, but if he chooses to attack us, we'd still be hard-pressed to defeat him."

Edward's lips tightened with resolve as he looked down at his right arm. "He could throw everything he's got at us and it wouldn't matter," he stated in a flat voice. "We'd still kick his ancient ass back to The Gate."

Hohenheim looked amused even as he warned, "Don't get too cocky, son," and waited for the inevitable explosion.

It never came. Edward merely shrugged and turned his back on him completely. "Don't ever call me that again, old man, or you might not live to regret it."

His voice was cold, far colder than Hohenheim had believed possible for his hot-tempered son. "Edward. . ."

"Brother, wait!" He heard the creaking of steel and leather as his brother stood and simply waited for the inevitable. "What happened to your arm? How did you get it back? Why can't you clap anymore, and _why _do you have Scar's tattoos?"

Edward looked passed the enclosure, where Scar's seared remains still rested in the open doorway, and hung his head as sorrow flowed through him. "Why the fuck do you think, Al?" he choked out before walking away.

He made his way to the center of the room, trying not to think about the loss of Alphonse's body, or deaths of so many of his friends. Scar, Hawkeye, Jerso, Zampano. . .they were all gone, and there was still a chance that they could lose Ling and Greed. He'd never dealt well with grief, and he didn't know what the fuck to do _now_. How could he look Al in the eye and tell him that he'd never get his body back because _he _had trusted the wrong man?

He shuddered and scrubbed a hand through his bangs. At least, Mustang was contained, he thought wearily. He had to admit that it was a pretty good plan, one that had taken Mustang completely by surprise. Roy hadn't been there when Al had used his alchemy to trap Pride, so he hadn't known how easily they could exploit the homunculus' only weakness. Pride would have expected it, but unlike Greed and Ling, his consciousness had obviously been suppressed—or destroyed—by Mustang's own.

It didn't solve the problem of how to kill fucker, though. The Flame Alchemist had successfully bonded with the one homunculus they'd never been able to definitively defeat. So far, containment was all they had managed, and Edward knew that wasn't going to be enough. Eventually, Mustang would find a way to get free, and they would have no choice but to deal with him. The fucker was damned near immortal now, and he had absolutely _no _personal restraints. What the hell were they going to _do?_

Edward's question was left unanswered as he came to a halt before the massive cone of earth and stone. He slowly reached out, splaying one gloveless hand across its smooth surface. He could hear movement inside, the desperate struggles of two powerful monsters as each fought for supremacy over the others, and wondered if it would ever end. Would Greed find Mustang's Stones and destroy him, or would he be devoured like the others, another sacrifice on the pyre of Roy's interminable rage?

"I'll put an end to it, Roy," he whispered achingly, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the enclosure. He could feel the vibrations of their fight, pounding in time with the ache in his head, and wanted nothing more than to curl up in a dark corner and weep. "I won't let you _this _be your only legacy. You'll go down in history as a hero who died protecting his country, not as one of the monsters who tried to destroy it. I fucking swear it."

"It's a little too late for that, I'm afraid." Edward jumped, startled, as Mustang's voice came to him. It was muffled by rock, strained by what he hoped was pain, but its mocking intonations reached him all the same. "Soon, they'll all be dead, and all that will be left is you and I."

Edward trembled as the gut-wrenching sound of flesh and bone giving way came to him. "Think of the _endless _ possibilities, Fullmetal."

_Oh, fuck! _

His fear returned tenfold as he laid both shaking hands flat against the enclosure. "Greed!" he called out urgently, silently urging the homunculus to respond. "What's going on in there? Are you okay? Talk to me, Greed!"

Dark, sardonic laughter was the only response to his terrified query. "No!" he shouted, pounding on the stone prison helplessly. "Greed? Ling? Come on, Greeling, one of you _fucking answer me!"_

"Brother?!" Alphonse ran towards him, the weight of his armored body causing the ground to quake in his wake. "What's going on? Has something happened to Ling?"

"I don't know, Al!" Edward answered sharply, swallowing hard as he slanted a troubled look his brother's way. He knew that Alphonse was worried about Ling—hell, he was worried about _both _of their friends right now—but if anyone could take care themselves, it was Greeling. "We need a plan to kill Mustang, and we need it _now._"

Unspoken was the knowledge that they didn't dare breach the stone prison. It would only give Mustang the opportunity to use Pride's shadows against them, and they'd barely managed to survive the first encounter as it was. Mustang had joined with two powerful homunculi, and coupled with his own inborn gifts, the odds were that he _would _follow through on his threat to slaughter them all if he got free.

"I believe I can help with that," a deep voice said from behind them.

Edward turned around slowly, watching with cautious golden eyes as Father slowly made his way towards him. Though the entire situation was _his _fault, he had just as much to lose as they did. He was over four-hundred years old, and his entire existence had been dedicated to this day. Not that they would _ever _let him fucking succeed, but with Mustang depleting his Philosopher's Stone and damn near killing him, it _was _in his best interest to help them. He'd probably turn on them when he was done, but at least Mustang would be fucking dead!

"What would you suggest?" Hohenheim threw out harshly, suspicion clear on his almost identical features. "It took all of us to distract him long enough to trap him in this."

He made a vague gesture towards the stone cone, and Father's tawny eyes took on a hooded quality that clearly expressed his disdain. "He devoured Pride from within, and he swallowed Wrath despite his resistance. He is very powerful, but he is a part of _me,_ now," the oldest Homunculus explained with unbearable arrogance. "I can break him down, reduce my progenies' Stones to their base forms, and return them to my own body."

"And how does that help us with Mustang?" Izumi demanded, one hand pressed to her stomach as though it pained her. "He's a powerhouse all on his own."

Father slanted her an inscrutable look. "I assure you, this is not a process he will survive."

The First Homunculus raised his hand, and the ground on the west side of the room parted. Two circular slabs of flat metal slid slowly apart, revealing a bubbling cauldron of red-hot magma. The large cylindrical object rose up out of the floor, its contents hot enough to send steam billowing towards the arched ceiling, and Edward frowned as he gazed at it. Well, at least he knew what to do with Father if he turned on them!

"Ask Greed, if you don't believe me," the homunculus added with a touch of satisfaction. "This is how his original incarnation met its end, after all."

"Yeah," a muffled voice screamed angrily, "and it fucking hurt, Pops! Don't think I've forgotten that!"

Reluctant amusement flashed through Father's golden eyes as they flicked to the funnel-shaped prison. "Of course not, my errant son."

Edward couldn't help but glare at the heartless old bastard before turning back to the enclosure. "Fuck, Greed, you had me worried for a minute there!" he yelled, thumping the thick stone for emphasis. "Next time fuckin' answer when I call you!"

"Shit, kid, that's hard to do when your throats been ripped out!" Greed hollered in return. "I bludgeoned the shit of out of your Colonel for you, by the way. I killed enough of his stones to stun him, so he's kinda out of it right now, but that won't last long. So, let me the fuck out of here so the old man can do his thing!"

"You got it, Greeling!" Edward grinned with relief as he took a step back and gestured for Alphonse to take his place. "I'll let you do the honors, Al. I wouldn't want to stand in the way of _true love."_

"_Ed!" _

If he still possessed a physical body, Edward suspected that he'd be blushing beet-red. Edward crossed his arms and tried to focus on _that _instead of what was going to happen next. He _knew _that Mustang had to die. Realistically, there was no way they could let him live after what he had done. Even if there were some way to mend his broken mind, to drag him back from the abyss of insanity, whatever was left of the military when this was done would execute him for his crimes. It was better that it end now, at the hands of those who remembered the man Roy had been, and not the monster he had let himself become.

He blinked back tears—damn it, he'd never cried as much in his entire life as he had today!—and watched as his brother clapped and set his leather-clad hands on the conical stone. A small fissure appeared in the wall, just large enough for a full-sized man to crawl through. The top of Greed's dark head poked out, and Edward smiled fondly as he watched Al drop to his knees to help the other man out. Greed was grinning as he was pulled into the room, but way he flopped onto the ground in a loose-limbed sprawl that betrayed his own relief at being freed.

The homunculus ignored the flash of alchemy as Alphonse sealed the stone closed once more, aiming an exasperated look Edward's way. "Took you long enough, kid."

"Bitch, moan, and complain," Edward mock-grumbled as he crouched beside him. He took in the blood staining the rounded collar of his tunic and exhaled harshly, grateful that Mustang hadn't managed to kill him too. "I owe you one, Greed. Thanks."

The homunculus dragged himself up onto his elbows tiredly. "Hey, I couldn't let one of my possessions get gutted, now could I?" he questioned rhetorically. "I take care of my own, kid. You should know that."

"Ppfftt." Edward reached down and landed a friendly punch on his bare shoulder. "Possession, my ass. It's called friendship, moron."

"Whatever." Greed shrugged, unconcerned, his violet eyes moving to Alphonse. The younger man was watching them closely, and even though his armor didn't convey any sort of expression at all, Greed had no problem interpreting the silent intensity of his gaze for what it was. He sighed and rolled his gaze back to Edward, his expression eloquent. "Not a problem I need, Ed."

One corner of Edward's mouth lifted in a crooked half-smile. "Ling's problem, not yours," he murmured quietly, and Greed took the hint. Be nice to the kid's kid brother. He could do that. It wasn't like he didn't like Alphonse. Hell, it wasn't even that he didn't have a physical body. Even if the kid _weren't _a disembodied soul slapped into a suit of armor, Greed wouldn't be interested. He _so _did not swing that way. Ling, unfortunately, did. He just swung towards the _other _Elric brother, which was a whole other can of worms.

Fuck, he thought succinctly, flopping back onto the floor. "Thanks for the save, Al," he threw out sincerely, but—most important of all—_casually_. "It was starting to get rank in there."

Alphonse only nodded, metal grinding on metal as he rose to his feet, and Greed felt a little bad. Al was a good kid, and he'd gotten raw deal in life, but trying to attach himself to Ling Yao was the worst thing he could possibly do. Ling had only two ambitions in life—doing Ed and becoming emperor of Xing. He just didn't care about anything—or anyone—else.

He ignored Ling's outraged mental protest at the thought, silently acknowledging that The Prince _did _care about the people he would one day rule. And yeah, he _knew _that the prince had loved old man Fu, and that that love extended to his granddaughter, Lan Fan. But Ling considered them family, and you jut didn't fuck family the way that he wanted to fuck Edward Elric.

"Hey." He felt a nudge on his shoulder and quickly jerked his attention back to the present. Edward was still crouched over him, concern gleaming from the depths of his tawny eyes. "Everything okay in there?"

"Ling's just being a pain in the ass. You know how he is," Greed answered with a roll of his wine-colored eyes. "Nothing to worry about, kid."

"Good." Edward rose to his feet, swaying slightly as his head reminded him that he abused it one time too many today, and extended an arm to the other man. "C'mon, Greeling, let's get this over with."

Greed took the proffered hand but made sure to use his own momentum to gain his feet. "You look like you're about to fall over," he commented critically. "Just how hard _did _you hit your head when Colonel Crazy threw you?"

A faint smile ghosted over Edward's lips at that. "Concussion," he stated succinctly. "Nothing I haven't been through before."

"Fuck, your taste in men is worse than Li—" Golden eyes slitted in a warning glare and Greed snapped his mouth shut. He noticed the kid's father frowning at them and hastily changed the subject. "So, Pops," he turned to his own "father" and a flashed blinding smile, "you ready to do your thing or what?"

Golden eyes flicked from him to Edward and back again, irritation flitting across his aged features, and Greed turned the smile up a notch. "You and your _humans," _Father commented snidely, a faint sneer twisting his lips as he turned away from his wayward progeny.

"Hey, blame yourself," Greed returned easily. He'd stopped caring what the old man thought of him a _long_ time ago. "I'm the manifestation of _your _avarice—Dad."

When Father's eyes narrowed with displeasure, and Edward quickly stepped between them. "Knock it the fuck off, Greed," he snapped, aiming a determined look at Father. "We need to lift that," he pointed at the earthen prison, "and drop it into your little bubble bath without unsealing it. Are gonna fucking help us or not?"

The First Homunculus merely studied him for a long, silent moment, and Edward fought the urge to knock the old man's teeth in. He didn't have his automail anymore, and right now, they really _did _need this asshole's help. Otherwise, he'd already be on the floor spitting teeth!

He never did give a verbal response, Edward would remember later. He merely faced the enclosure that was Mustang's prison, calmly raised his right hand, and the world went to hell.


End file.
